


In Silence

by viatorix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson and Cullen meet in secret within the Temple of Dumat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Silence

There were no candles burning this night, the pulsating bloody glow of the lyrium was all the light they needed. They met in this place in secret; only the tranquil man inhabiting the rooms beyond knew what they were doing, and he wouldn’t tell a soul if he wasn’t ordered to. The lie was a boot on Cullen’s throat, pressing whenever he remembered the words, the _excuse_ he had given to the Inquisitor for his leave of absence. A family matter, he said the first time. Possible hideout, was the one he gave next. Now, he’d come up with so many, that they seemed to blend. The Inquisitor didn’t speak out against him, the man’s interest in regards to his Commander had always been pallid at best. With a wave of a hand, Cullen was free to commit an offense that would have those that were discovered executed on the spot. The gentle tick of time assured that he could still be one of them.

The soft singing was a buzz in the back of Cullen’s brain. A thousand voice choir that even the finest of Chantry ensembles couldn’t hope to mimic. He understood why the Red Templars liked it, why Samson’s temple room was full of it. It was too tempting, it’d be so easy to just… let go and listen. But, he knew if he did that, then there would be no doubt that the Inquisition would no longer have a Commander. Just a shadow of that man stained in little red crystals.

As the Red General himself thrust his cock between Cullen’s thighs, he strained to ignore the sweetness, lest he press his tongue to the nearest shard.

Their skin was already slick with sweat, egged on by the heat rolling throughout the room. Samson gripped his thighs, pulling strenuously and pushing deeper. He was both ruthless and efficient, and utterly the reason Cullen kept crawling back to feel the burn of his hands. _This is the last time_ , he would tell himself as he spurred his horse onward, little note tucked in his satchel. The General never jeered at him or taunted him when he found Cullen waiting patiently for his arrival, but he could see it in the curl of his lips over his teeth. When their teeth clattered and Cullen roughly pulled at his dark hair in frustration, the man welcomed it and nipped at his lip, just enough that the Commander would have to split it later to cover up the teeth marks from curious eyes.

The man pressed his thumb between those lips now and Cullen sucked it down, rolling his tongue over the calloused pad. It tasted like ash and sword oil, and Maker, he needed more. Gripping Samson’s wrist, he took another finger: coal and iron. Then another: dirt and stone. The General groaned above him as Cullen coated his fingers, making sure he took the taste from each and every one. His thrusts had slowed as he shuddered, pressing the tips of his digits over the Commander’s teeth and slid them into the creases of his gums. Cullen choked as they tickled the back of his throat, but that did nothing more than drench them further in saliva. When Samson pulled them away the viscous stuff went with them, dribbling and sliding down his chin.

He dragged those fingers down, all but achingly slow, caressing Cullen’s back and dipping them down into the cleft of his ass, rubbing lazily just above where they were joined. He gasped at the varying pressure they provided, clenching firmly around Samson’s cock as it drove in down to the thick base. The mixture of oil, sweat and saliva made the thrusts sloppy and wet, but Cullen rolled his hips to meet them.

His senses were becoming overloaded as the man above pounded into him, restarting their ruthless pace. Cullen was beginning to pant with the effort, just as Samson was, lyrium or not. The Commander would feel the burn come morning and a large part of him was thankful that this temple was far enough from civilisation that the wrong people would not see him stumbling like a newborn foal.  The other man would see though. He would look at him with hungry eyes, even if outwardly Samson would only laugh and slap Cullen’s ass before he too journeyed out to return to his men. The smaller part of him, the one without reason, would be glad those eyes looked at him like a man starved. Cullen took some pleasure in knowing that he affected Samson just as much as the other man stirred fire in him.

Cullen threw his head back. The great horned statue loomed ever above them, terrible and black. With the vicious red glow, it was easy to forget under whose banner that they fucked. The colossal shards obscured most of the temple laid out before them from their place on the raised platform.

Dumat’s likeness sat at their heads as silent as promised.

His horns reached into the vaulted ceiling, mixing with the shadow that not even the lyrium could chase away. The dragon’s maw was open wide and even after a thousand years his teeth still glittered like they had been newly chiselled by Tevinter’s finest masons. The way the light caught the edges was mesmerising: ebbing and flowing with the heat of Samson’s languid momentum. How they cried out in pleasure below him, echoing in his silence, seemed almost blasphemous, and not to Dumat. If the Maker could see him now, writhing in sanctimonious bliss as he was being fucked beneath the statue of an ancient, corrupted, and _dead_ God, he would surely abandon his child. Cullen prayed for Andraste’s forgiveness, even as he arched off the bed with a keen, clawing the sheets as the man above him angled his cock just so.

Bits and pieces of the chant of light slipped through his mind. Words that had put him on his knees too many times to count and too many times to remember. But as much as Cullen tried to focus on them, it was difficult. Dumat’s sightless eyes were right there, boring into him as he was roughly taken, legs spread wide, and dismantled piece by piece by a man that called a priest of the Dragon God, Master.  And suddenly it was hard to force his mind around the Maker’s words, much less his tongue. Petty reasons for not doing so became _easy_ : it would be sacrilege to speak such words in this corrupted place. It should just be left to dust. Shadows reigned here, and Cullen wasn’t strong enough to preserve himself as well as those beyond the man at his hips. Let them roam without the Maker’s light, for he wouldn’t speak.

The chant of light fell away from his mind and Andraste’s name died on his lips, replaced by something raw and animalistic.

Samson followed his moans, urging more with every thrust. His teeth snapped at the skin of his shoulder, and Cullen’s fingernails bit half-moons into Samson’s back when they came together twisting and rutting like beasts. Something wanted Cullen to leave his humanity behind for a moment, and to get lost in the spinning in his head. It was too strong, and demanded far more than the soft hum of voices. This call was primal and fluid. It would not be sated with simple sighs and whimpers, nor could prayers for strength drive it away.

“Harder,” growled a voice that didn’t seem like his own.

With renewed vigour Samson wrapped a deceptively strong arm around Cullen’s waist and rolled him forward until the small of his back was seated on the front of the man’s thighs. His breath was hot on Cullen’s lips and his cock was searing between his legs as the General thrust downward with such ferocity, that the Commander inched along the strewn sheets.

This was it. This was what was demanded.

The reward was pulses of electricity that came fast and frequent, sending sparks down to Cullen’s toes. He ripped a hand from Samson’s shoulder to stroke and pump at his own cock, not caring how loud the cry bursting from his lips was. Low groans, deep and heady joined his, mixed with curses. Cullen plucked them from the General mouth, and collected them like they were gifts for an altar.

“ _You’re so…_ ” Samson didn’t finish the sentence, just cast it away and left it hanging in the air. It could have been ended with a hundred different words, but Cullen cared for none of them.

_Oh, Maker,_ his release was beginning to crest, tight and taut. With each thrust and pull, it gathered, driving him toward completion. The edges of his mind sunk in, and the demanding call beat a heavy tempo, almost thundering in his ears. Samson hadn’t slowed, even as the way he coil in on himself and Cullen, said he was close to release too.

_Oh, Maker, he was so close. He was going to… oh—_

“ _Dumat_ ,” the name slipped from Cullen’s lips as his release splattered along his belly, catching on his chin. He choked on his breath when Samson came not a moment later, his hot seed spilling into the Commander. The calling instantly ceased, and retreated from his mind like a ghost. It left the sinister impression of something pleased. The thought of that frightened Cullen.

Samson retreated from Cullen’s thighs and laid himself out on his back. He went quiet, seeming to think something over before he rolled his head toward Cullen.

“You called out to Dumat,” he said candidly. The solemnness of it didn’t suit the act they had just committed at all.

“I don’t… know why I did that.” And Cullen didn’t. He had another name ready, but when the moment came, it just vanished.

Samson licked his lips, digging his tongue into his teeth. “Don’t worry. I’ve done it too.”


End file.
